Ikea Madness...

It is a solid fact that I love all things Ikea.
I mean, I really, have a fondness for the place... maybe it is because I would love to live somewhere there are trendy fabric covered sofas without spit up on them, a bathroom where the floor could clearly never smell like little boy pee-pee, and the three amazing articles of clothes I own all hang neatly in a wardrobe. Hence, I dream of being a more Ikea-ish girl.
So, today... I headed out, list in hand, catalog dog eared, snack bag well stocked, the entire back of the Excursion clean and empty, just ready to hold my new trendy life.
I took along my friend Chris, aka T-Bone.
Me, her and four kiddos.
As we arrived, I got a little teary eyed when the yellow and blue flags came into sight. Large, ample parking spaces abound... this is every over sized SUV drivers dream. Especially when one is still a little, um, inept at parking in any space not designed for say, a small airplane.
We park, we potty, we strap small children into carts...
We are even armed with the paper tape measure.

We have lunch... YUM. It was the best $2.49 I have ever spent. Seriously, these Swedish folk know how to make American moms come back... clean pottys and a TV in the eating area. Brilliant really, and if you factor in the $2.49 lunch, they may in fact, be the next world super power...
Three hours later...
We go get a large flatbed cart and begin loading it up. We had big items... beds for my boys, shelves, etc. We even decided to get the bed frame for mine and Micah's room... the Ikea clerk, we'll call him... Doofus, he assures me it will in fact fit on top of the Excursion. Now, my friend T-Bone and I are tough looking girls, her with her houndstooth headband, and me with my baby blue pashmina... I guess Doofus figured we were tough enough to pull the gigantic cart he brought us for the bed and manage a stroller, a shopping cart, and the four kids.... Doofus was wrong, and begrudgingly agreed to take the gigantic cart up front for us. Thanks Doofus, you are a gentleman and a scholar...
Next up, the checkout... Doofus struck again. He tells us, "Here, go the self checkout, there is no line."
I seriously wondered what about our situation... two moms, 4 kids, a shopping cart, a stroller, and a gigantic cart full of furniture screamed "self check out". At this point I wanted someone else to pee for me, I didn't want to be checking out my own furniture.
But, Doofus was insistent, and we end up in the self checkout, where thankfully we got a little help from the self checkout clerk. OK, really, stores of America... if you need a self checkout clerk, what is the freaking point? I shall devote a whole blog post to this very topic soon... back to Ikea.
Doofus dumped us in that self check out and was gone faster than a hidden chocolate stash at a fat camp. So we explain whose stuff is what, and I start ringing my smaller stuff... things got rung up twice because hello... there were no beeps, and guess what? The self check out clerk has to come over a push a code consisting of roughly 253 numbers to take each item off. Finally I am done, I go to use my debit card, because woohoo... you get 3% back for your next purchase, and...
DENIED!
WHAT??????
I look at the card... expired in March. Thanks local bank for the new debit card. Thanks a real lot.
Fine, whatever, I get out my credit card, swipe it...
DENIED!!!!!!!
WHAT????
I am starting to think I have been identity thefted... (long story short, the credit card company had blocked my card because of suspicious activity.) So, I turn to my friend and see the chaos that is us at the self check out...
Her one year old screaming in sheer "I have been in ikea too long" terror.
Alden spilling a baggie of Kix cereal on the floor.
Emerson and Grace (Chris' daughter) climbing all over the gigantic cart and asking "why" questions every two seconds...
It was grand.
I also realize people are looking at us, because guess what? Women with four kids, a stroller, a shopping cart, and a gigantic cart full of furniture should NOT be using the self checkout! Do you know who uses the Ikea self checkout?
People buying a few red wine glasses for the party on their boat this weekend.
Women buying a throw pillow for their perfectly clean, never been spit up on sofa.
Gay men buying matching towel sets for their guest bathroom.
Yuppie couples who have those three cool articles of clothing and are just here to get a few trendy items to fill the empty space in their wardrobe...

My friend Chris, in a true act of trust, love, loyalty and simple desperation to make the checkout nightmare end, swipes her debit card without batting an eye. She was not letting me leave without my 3% bonus... I think I heard the yuppies cheer when my receipt printed.

You think it is over right?
haha, this is Day three of Jude's exciting life... it was not over by a longshot!
We head out the door, another customer I should note, helped heft the gigantic cart of furniture. Doofus was nowhere to be found.

I pull the vehicle around, and the friendly Ikea employee in charge of loading items into people's cars, we will call him FrownyFace, well FrownyFace seems less than thrilled about loading these items for us, but he does. Two beds, a shelf, a locker unit, rugs, glasses, baskets, etc. all loaded, in such an "expert" way so as to completely block the back window. Great, what inept over sized SUV driver needs the back window anyway right?
When he gets the final box, a queen size bed frame, on the top he just looks at me.
I look back.
FrownyFace is now clapping his hands together in that 'All done here" way, so I ask, "Are you going to tie it down?"
His reply...
"Can't. Liability."
And off walks FrownyFace.
I think he and Doofus are brothers, or at least cousins.
I realize, we need to secure this thing, and then see someone else get twine from a large dispenser. Ok, I have twine. I can do this. I tie down one side, and hop around to the other, and then in an act of most UN Betty-Freidanishness I spy two young men heading into the store and ask them to help me tie the box down.
Serious note, Toby and Jamie were awesome. They spent 15-20 min tying and retying to make sure that box was secure. All the while FrownyFace just watched. It took all I had in me not to stick my tongue out at him.
Is the story over now?
Heck no, but I stink at typing so I will wrap it up quickly...

Trip Home:
Credit card denied again at gas pump.
Starbucks.
Torrential Rain.
Lightning.
Lots of Lightning.
Soaking wet cardboard box on roof.
Cardboard box pieces flying off roof of car.
Two kids in a nasty gas station potty. Poop involved.
Leaking window.
Late for Science night at school.

So you see, I must realllllllllllly love Ikea to go through all this... because I am going back soon to get my bed linens.
I will not be using the self checkout.

Some scraptivity...

Hadji and the Poisonous Toad...

Ok here we are...
Day two of Jude's exciting week.
This event actually occurred last week, but slackers can use old material, no one has read it yet! Ah, the joy of procrastination!

I am a good mom.

At times I need to repeat that to myself lest I call and turn myself in to CPS. (child protective services.)
So, being a good mom of boys, I see the benefit in letting them be, well, boys. I cheer on the living room wrestling matches, allow the mud fights in the yard, and of course, encourage public urination. Hence, last week when we found a toad, I was not too squeamish... I mean, I did use my zoom to get this photo, but I did not do what most moms would, which is to scream, "ACK!! Don't touch that thing, it will give you warts! It will pee on you! Run! Flee!!!!"





No, I took photos, I chatted up the toad's good qualities.
Until last week. That toad, that ugly little wart covered wretch, poisoned my Hadji. He found him again in the yard, and I encouraged him to pick up the toad, play with the toad.
"Be nice to the toad though" I said.
"Don't squeeze him too hard" I warn.
"We don't want to hurt the toad" I implore.

Well, that all changed when, Emerson comes running toward me, screaming that he cannot see. I look at him and he is foaming at the mouth! "What happened? " I shriek.
"That toad squirted me in the eyes. OWWWWWWWW I can't see! My eyes are burning."

Hate, pure hate for all toads seethed through me at that point.

I ran Emerson into the house and began dousing his eyes with water. I say I ran him in, because he was still screaming that he could not see. I realize blindness is not something Micah will look kindly upon when arrives home.
I keep him splashing water and google "poison toads" and sure enough... there is that stupid toad right there. I call Micah, who, informs me I should be calling the doctor, not him. Ok, I should have thought of that, but give me a little credit, my kid is foaming at the mouth!
I give Emerson some benadryl, and call the doctor. This is the same doctor I called in tears when I thought I found blood in Lincoln's little one week old diaper, when I nearly killed Lincoln via feeding him eggs at 10 months old (he is deathly allergic). They were called when Emerson had an allergic reaction to peanuts, when I swore his cough was TB( thanks webMd, you suck) when Lincoln broke his arm, and of course, when I insisted Lincoln had ringworm. (again, webMd, and it cost me $60 to be told it was just dry skin. bleh!) So... I was thrilled, THRILLED I say when I got to call the doctor and tell them, I had in fact allowed my child to be squirted by a poisonous toad. I got a suitcase ready just in case i needed to flee CPS.

No, really, the nurse was great, Hadji recovered, and we no longer touch toads. (Or consult webMd.)

day two, done...
and more scrapping eye candy.

Migraines are from the devil...

Ok, not really, but any blog title containing the name of lucifer is sure to grab your attention. I woke up this morning with a migraine from Hades. Yes, straight from satan himself. I purposely used a lower case "s" too because, really, I am not a fan of satan at all. I am jesting about the headache and all, but really, I look forward to the day when God swoops down and knocks his demonic butt into the everlasting lake of fire forever... and ever... and ever...

Eternity is a long time.

Think about it.

Well, what a way to start a new post.

A post that actually contains a PROMISE... yep, a PROMISE...

from me to you

the faithful blog reader who has hung in there despite my slacking ways.

I am going "all in" this week and committing to a post a day for the next 7 days.

Wow. That looks alot longer in type.

But I will do it.

WHY? you ask?

Because, (I love starting a sentence in a grammatically horrific way. Heather and Chris, love me anyway okay?) as I was saying... Because, I have been e-mailed and told my updates are too far and few between... so I will remedy that this week and prove to you all that my boring life...

my life of poopy butt wiping, poison toads, and freakish airport adventures is not really all that worthy of posting more often...

Then I will likely get e-mails saying, "Ok... please, please for the love of all that is holy, stop updating that technically painful to look at, and boring to read blog of yours."

If you send me that e-mail, you should know though, I will take you off my Christmas card list. (not really, I rarely send Christmas cards, but please note... Christmas gets the capital "C" as a shout out to Jesus in light of that first paragraph.)

So hold onto your hats... Here is day one of "This week in Jude's world... the yawn edition..."

We are recovering today from a whirlwind weekend that started with picking up Beth at a Chick Fil A. Chrissy actually got her from the airport, and we met at the Chick. Wow. It had been too long since I had seen these girls, and let me tell you... Chrissy's new baby, Titus... could he be any cuter? No, no he could not. And women everywhere would hate Chrissy if they saw her as she strode about the Chick Fil A already back in her size 2 pants and looking oh so skinny. Don't worry ladies, I asked them to put extra lard in everything she ate that day.

Here we are:

Now, after a lovely time we headed back home to the Casa de Fingerprint, and out to dinner with Micah and the boys. Poor Beth.

She got to see my redneck life in real time.

(First thing on the way home from the airport to boot! )

One Hadji

plus too much sprite

equals one need to pee when there is no stop in sight.

I still had my cup, and yes, where you are thinking this is going... is where it went.

Beth was a real gem about it all, but I did advise her to move her diet coke before I put the new warm "mellow yellow" near it. Gross you say? I challenge you to drive 74 MPH, help your child pee in a cup, maintain a conversation, and not crash. I am sure there is facebook flair for this very thing.

At dinner, poor Hadji was so under an allergy attack, benadryl, and the side effects from the toad incident. (you will read about that later in the week) that all the poor kid did at dinner was lay on Micah and beg to home. When a child refuses even ice cream, you should know they are sick.

Pukage. Lots of it.

Hello Chick Fil A lunch, nice to see you again.

I made it up to Beth by watching Bride Wars with her and making sure to explain why the blue hair scene was technically wrong. I know how people love that when watching a movie. Kate Hudson's hair (or fake hair I should say.) bothered me throughout the entire movie, and those bangs!?!? Ugh, I don't know if I can respect her anymore.

We spent Saturday morning scrapbook shopping and such, and then went to meet Chrissy and family for a day of fun in their neck of the woods. I made sure our exit that evening was quick, so as to avoid tears. It was almost rude quick, but I could not have the people at Steak and Shake see me bawl.

There was more activity, but really I think after pee in a cup and puke as a start to the Memorial Day weekend, you get the idea that it was jam packed with lots of fun events... ;)

Here, I will even throw in some scrappage:

See you tomorrow.

Yawn...

(I should note that my migraine has been tamed, not gone, but tamed to a dull roar by loads of excedrin migraine. I have an ample supply thanks to my dear friends Lorena and Steve, who trek to CVS with their extrabucks at all hours just to keep me well stocked. Thank guys, I am shaking like a crackie jonesing for a fix, but at least I can sit upright now. :)

Hello, meet Hadji...

Here is my kid.

His new name is Hadji.

How did we arrive at this new name of HIS choosing...

Well, the almighty box of satan, aka the TV was involved, of course. I have never hated and yet loved something so much at that same time. (the Tv, not Hadji.)

We have been watching Johnny Quest... a most politically incorrect cartoon from, I am guessing the late 60s?? Don't know, not gonna google it.

Emerson loves it... alot.

I mean in a - would rather get a spanking than miss Johnny Quest as a punishment-kind of way. And yes, I am exploiting that to its fullest. I am a good mom like that.

Well, on the show there is a little boy from India named Hadji. I am guessing India because of his accent and the turban with a ruby that Hadji sports. The ruby was actually used to flag down a rescue plane in a recent episode. I wonder if my "quest" for that new wedding ring would come to fruition if I could prove its worth in plane flagging down and such.

I can hear it now...

Hadji: Please mom, I need that ruby.

Mom: No Hadji.

Hadji: But mom, all the kids have jewels in their turbans!

Mom: So if all the kids tie-dyed their turbans would you? (side note:I would. I ♥ tie dye.)

Hadji: But mom, think of all the useful things I could do with that ruby, like flaggin down a plane!"

Mom: Hmmm... I had not thought of that... OK, if it is going to be that useful, go get one.

So, Hadji, his ruby clad turban, and his dog Bandit are a fave of Emerson. So much so, that a few weeks ago, he informed me that from here on out, he wished to be called Hadji.

Ok...

But he is serious.

One morning I asked him "Emerson, what would you like for breakfast?"

"Moooooommmmmyyyyyy... call me Hadji! And you know Hadji likes turkey sandwiches everyday for breakfast!" The sheer look of exasperation saved him from rebuke for his demanding ways.

Onto example #2 of yes, he is that serious...

We pick Lincoln up from school and he keeps trying to tell Emerson something... Em is looking out the window, ignoring Lincoln completely.

"Emerson, listen to me! Emerson? Emerson?" Finally it dawns on me... "Um, Lincoln, I think he wants you to call him Hadji" Lincoln looks at me, and begrudgingly says. "Ok... Hadji?

"Yes Lincoln" came the smirking little Hadji's reply.

So, we now call him Hadji a good bit. Even the checkout lady and bagboy at the grocery store got into it. When the bagger called him and said, "Come on Hadji, your mom is ready" Eme- I mean, Hadji, got the biggest grin.

The boy has even asked to change his name "for real".

And he means "For real mom, I want my real, real name to be Hadji."

His stuffed dog has also been renamed "Bandit".

Stay tuned for more adventures of Hadji... upcoming episodes include:

Hadji and the Blue Eyebrows

Hadji's Disappearing Act

Hadji and the swollen eyes

Hadji and the Turkey Sandwich

So, please, welcome Hadji with open arms... oh, and if anyone has a spare turban and ruby, that would be great.

Chicken Cramps...

OK, I am not trying to be whiny... who am I kidding, I am. BUT... I would like you to know, I endure alot, and I do mean alot of, how shall I put this delicately... unfeminine behavior at my abode. I know as a mother of three boys, I should just suck it up and get used to it, but really, how many burps can one hear in a day and not get a little jaded? And isn't BLOG an acronym for brooding, loud, obnoxious, griping? Oh, it isn't? Well, than why do I have one anyway???

I digress... In the home, I hear every body function these male species produce. And if I don't hear it, sadly, I smell it. I think it is wrong that even Alden, my sweet little baby, has crossed over to the dark side. The other day, he toddled over, grabbed a book off the shelf, and brought it to me. He thrust it into my hand, babbled something I can only assume meant, "Gee mom, I am not in the mood for the heaviness of War and Peace today, let's just go with the Chubby Engine, OK?" So, after I take the book, he turns and backs up into me, to sit on my lap. Yes, he backs up, as if he is a car and there should be little beeps impending his arrival. So, we delve into the world of the Chubby Engine, and all his work on the Chubby Freight Line. As we are getting to a really key point in the story, Alden makes the crossover... he toots, loudly, right on my lap. Then, he smiled up at me and started to giggle... that little chubby cheeked, dimpled, hair in the eyes grin was trying to hide his traitor ways! I threw him off, disgusted. JUST KIDDING! Who would do that? I just looked at him and he tapped the book, as if to say, "Back to business woman." Yes, calling me "woman" will be his next step into the pit of testosterone. So excited...

The Emerson Files Case #4259c

One hoe

+one window

+Emerson

= broken glass and mad mommy.

Yeah, for real, he used a HOE to knock out the windows on the playhouse. He had no answer for why, but knew he was in big trouble when he heard the growl coming from deep within me...

Fast forward to 20 minutes later...

One hose

+Emerson

= one miniature pond in the backyard.

Now, this time, he had a story. He even said, "Ma, don't be mad. Let me tell you the whole story." I stopped him right there. If you remember this is a child who at age three had a whole imaginary family named "Ha-her, Doh, and baby Free". I could not let the "whole story" telling even begin. I simply asked, " Why did you turn the hose on when you have been told not to?"

He puts a hand on his hip, looks up at me with those wild curls a swaying in the breeze and replies, "Actually Mom, it was a cat or a dog."

A cat or a dog? You mean to tell me this, this is the story that boy is going to use?

I said, "No Emerson. A cat could not turn on the hose, there is no way that happened."

"Well..." he says, missing nary a beat, "A really big dog could"... and he is actually looking almost proud, like how can she argue with my logic?

I have read all those stupid child rearing books that say "never accuse a child of lying". Whatever. I just said, "You are lying Emerson. A dog, a big dog, did not in fact turn that hose on. You did and you are lying to me. Go in the house, your punishment and I will be there soon."

Do you see what I am up against???

(And just so you know the resolve with which Emerson tells his fibs, he still maintains that a dog, and I quote, "a really smart dog" turned that hose on. )

Onto Lincoln, who of late is utterly fascinated with the word chicken. Everything is proceeded or preceded by the word "chicken" I am chicken mom, Alden is chicken baby, poop is even chicken poop... it was cute for about 5 minutes, now, now I loathe anything to even do with poultry. So, fast forward to dinner last night. We are outside, grilling out, like an all American post-cardish family. Micah asks Lincoln about a party at school that involved dancing, how it went, what he did, etc. Lincoln says, "We did the twist, the hokey pokey, the chicken dance." Micah responds, "The chicken dance? I bet you loved doing that."

Lincoln looks at us and in this very serious tone says, "Well, I did the best I could. I had a cramp." I think I gave birth to Napoleon Dynamite. He was not trying to be funny, and I know it is not as funny when it is typed out, but people, try and imagine a 6 year old complaining of cramps at the chicken dance... we were spitting out brats and laughing so hard...

Here is some scrap stuff... yeah, just "stuff." This post has been sitting waiting to be published for a good couple weeks, so I have no more time for creativity... These were all done during an online crop for Memorable Seasons. :) I know my non- scrapper friends love to hear that I spent my time this way...

This was for a challenge where you had to use hidden journaling. It is indeed about Micah's new job... the journaling is on the back of the card that says "wishes".

This one is about my dear friend Michelle. She is an amazing person and her faith is inspiring. It is hard to see in the scan, but there is an M and a J on the little circles next to the flower.

This is a whole other blog post...

A little something about another wonderful friend I have, Chris. She makes me laugh so stinking much!

This was one where you could not use any patterned paper, so I doodled that background. Sarah, don't look too close at my pitiful robots!

Alright. Enough. Does anybody even read this thing anymore???